There is a light that never goes out UK
by theincredibleinkspitter
Summary: This story isn't exactly about Sherlock, but about Benedict Cumberbatch, and his worries before shooting the 3rd season of Sherlock. Home alone, he feels depressed with no real reason, until the arrival of a strange person... Sadness, love, lots of feelings, and much more! English is not my mother tongue so please don't hesitate to correct my language! thaaanks!
1. Chapter 1

My life was not easy at the moment. Every morning, I weakly woke up from my bed, and took an empty look outside the window. The birds, the sun, the kids playing in the streets, on those things made me wanna puke. I did not have the strength to spit at their faces, so I stayed there, wrapped in my duvet, with trails of dry tears around the eyes.

If the medias had known about the real reason why I had delayed the beginning of my last shooting, they would have hurried to run around my house to shoot me, wandering like Jeff Lebowski, with stubble, wearing the same old dressing gown.

If the groupies, who write ridiculous fan fictions about me had heard that I was moping around for days and days, they would all had cried like the mourners from Antiquity.

Nobody would have believed it. They would all laugh at me.

Me, the favorite personality of all British.

One of the most demanded actor of the year.

The sarcastic consulting detective from telly.

My name is Benedict Cumberbatch, and I want to die.

When I opened my eyes this morning, I decided that I would spend my day in bed. Dying of suffocation under my duvet seemed to be a nice ending: at my stage, I had no notion of dignity left. My eyelids were burning me, and when I coughed, I felt a rough after-taste of vomit invading my throat. I spent the whole night clenching my fists, crying and shivering. My life disgusted me. You would be right to think that I have everything I want, but the loneliness that was attacking me was unbearable. When I was nobody, I had way more success in my life: I met girls, I laughed, and I had true friends. All those people left me when I began to star in movies. They were afraid that I got a big head, while my only wish was that they kept the memory of me being a funny man, always ready to drink some beers, laughing even in the worst pubs of London.

I regretted my old life, my mates, my exs, even those rivals you always meet when you do not want to. Now, I only had those bloody paparazzis, following me everywhere, even when I go to Tesco to buy some toilet paper, and all those shady journalist, with their hypocrite smiles, hoping that you will give them some infos about your private life.

I was just feeling alone, alone, alone.

The entire humanity made me sick, and the simple fact of watching a kid holding its mommy had become unbearable. For the first time of my life, I was seriously wondering if they were some little switch, somewhere in my brain, that would allow me to disconnect myself forever from this fucking life.

I gently stretched my legs and arms in my bed, and turned to grip my pillow and put it under my chin. It was 8 o' clock, maybe a little more. Too early. I had nothing to do anyway. But, as my eyes slowly closed and took me away from the real world, a piercing ringing echoed in the whole house. Once. And twice. Fuck… Not that. Mailman, girl scout, journalist, whoever you are, go fuck yourself! I don't give a shit about how you came here, but please, leave.

Third ringing.

Silence.

Fourth ringing.

Silence.

Fifth ringing. Sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Niiiinth ringing.

To every push on the bell, this motherfucker pushes his finger for even longer… Is this morse code?

Infuriate, I jump out of my bed, and grab my dressing gown. Without taking the time to put some shoes on, I go downstairs, muttering. My fingers go on my chin. The hairs are thick, like an old hedgehog. If this is a paparazzi, I'm in trouble. My carrier? Dead. Sex-appeal? Zero. Nothing. It just flew away.

Fuck it, at this point, I just don't care…

I finally open the door, without taking the time to glance through the peephole. I unlock the door, almost curious to see the face of the maniac who decided to bore me on the wrong day.

And then…


	2. Chapter 2

A cool wind went inside the house as the door opened. And then I saw her.

Low black Converses All Star, used by the time. A small denim short, rolled-up and sewed with a hem, and a leather belt whose big strap covered her pale tank top, almost transparent. I glanced at her face. She might be twenty or so. Her hair are very short, boyish, and they seem to wish to go on an adventure since they are so damn messy. Her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses with very tinted glasses, and she bites her lower lips. Embarrassed? No. She just seems lost.

A heavy adventurer bag weakens her shoulders. Circumspectly, I looked at her up and down. She was not bad, no, she was even pretty, although a bit too young for me. Rule number one: never date a girl with more than fifteen year of difference with your age. It reminds me of a drunk guy in a pub that once told me, while he drank an umpteenth glass of Jack Daniels: " I like girls as Whisky: six years old and in my basement". This memory made me smile. What a bad taste joke, but anyway, those are the best, right?

Well, I hadn't smiled for a long while. But now, the young lady in front of me has not say anything yet, like if she was expecting something. Sceptically, I looked at her and asked:

" - Is there anything I can do for you? "

Immediately, a big smile stretched her lips, and she shook the hand in an embarrassed move.

" - Oh, please forgive me, I thought there was nobody, I did not heard the door opening! "

There was a little french accent in he voice, and she added:

" - I rang at like three houses but no one answered, I am totally lost... "

That being said, sweetheart, at eight o' clock, everybody is sleeping, it is not surprising that nobody came... However, a detail surprises me. Sherlock Holmes, my alter ego, drums sharply with his fists against the inside walls of my brain. My ex girlfriend was right. I tend to involve myself too much in my character, and now, my neurons are speeding up like bugs. She said she thought the house was empty? But... Didn't she saw me when I opened the door? Oh, everything is getting clear now... The disorientation, the sunglasses... This young girl is blind. Her little voice gets me out of my torpor.

" - Do you know where I might find a youth hotel, or an inn in the neighborhood? I am searching for a place to sleep for a few nights, but I think I took the wrong bus... It is the first time that I go in the United Kingdom."

I had so much power right now... I could tell her to get lost, and make her walk to the Beckham's house, and they would kick her ass out like if she was a hobo. But judging by her shaking shoulders, I quickly understood that it was a bad idea. After all, as a representative of the British awesomeness, I had to help her...

I approached her slowly, and help her took her bag off. Oh god, that was a really girl luggage: unbelievably heavy. When she felt my presence next to her, the young girl jumped. I put my hand on her shoulder, slowly, and whispered:

" - Do not worry. I am going to grill some muffins, and we will look for a place where you can sleep. "

She began to smile, reassured.

" - Are... are you sure? I do not want to bother you, Sir... "

She is so polite, it seems that she was educated of the British way, almost excessively, since childhood... Quick, sweetheart, let's go inside. I do not wish that some tabloid to immortalize the first time we met, and make me look like a kids kidnapper, or whatever... I give her my hand:

" - Come in, don't be scared... What is your name? "

Her fingers run through the scattered mess of her hair, and I feel her eyes, not to say her look, going in my direction. Under the thick glasses, I try to imagine the color of her eyes. A pale blue, an almost transparent shade of grey? No. Brown. A beautiful, deep brown, like the trunk of a tree which has just been cut. I am sure that this tint would suit her perfectly, and all of a sudden, I would die to take her glasses off and, with my still intact vision, get absorbed by her eyes. Penetrate her soul as I want to, like a vampire sucking on her life, because my only wish, in the infinite loneliness that eats me... is to meet someone innocent, to find some tenderness. I am so ridiculous and pathetic, manipulated by my sadness. Anyway, it is so sad to loose sight, but this might be a chance for me. Being anonymous. Simplicity. Finally, some rest! Little blind girl, your arrival is such a blessing! And her voice, becoming relieved, says:

" - Sarah. What is yours? "

An endless happiness suddenly flows through my heart, burns my veins, brighten my senses. Sarah. What a beautiful name... I feel like laughing like as kid, and as a move to let her go in, I glance outside, and answers:

" - Nice to meet you! My name is John."

Oh Watson, my dear Watson... Please forgive me, but I could not help myself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everybody! This is the new chapter of my fanfiction, that i am slowly translating! My english is not really good, so do not hesitate to send me a message if you feels like helping my correct it, i would really appreciate it! Thank you! :)**

She slowly walks in the entrance, groping her way forward, her hands trying to help her to get some landmarks. I look at her, surprised by her capacity of adapting in a new environment, but mostly by her confidence. Sarah, exploring unknown territory, evolving slowly, with the shyness specific of a blind person. I swallow my pride. How can I allow myself to feel miserable, while she is condemned to live in eternal darkness?

She arrives in the open-plan kitchen, and sit on one of the chair near the bar. I open the fridge and the cupboard, and in a few seconds the bacon is deliciously grilling in the stove, while the muffins gild in the toaster. A bright smile lights up Sarah's face as the breakfast's smells begins to perfume the room.

" - Hmmm, it smells so good, It had been years since I had lunch! ", she says.

She swallows a mouthful of bacon, and moans with delight.

" - Oh my god, I wonder why french people are so reluctant to eat salty for breakfast... It's so delicious! "

She hops on her chair and take a bite of muffin. Her enthusiasm toward such simple things I almost forgot is amusing me, it is marvelous. I really wish I could be like her. Be able to appreciate those pleasures of life, even the tiniest, discover, rediscover, like the first day. With the excitation of the filming, the promotion of the movies, the fangirls, I had forgotten the power of the simple things. Smile for the photographers while holding a glass of champagne, pose on the red carpet... I could not stand it anymore. But with Sarah, I rediscovered slowly my erstwhile everyday. Sipping an orange juice, I looked at her and asked:

" - What brings you to Great-Britain? "

She puts her fork, and begins to talk about her life, her everyday. The university in Paris. Her difficulties to meet new people and feel at ease with them. The darkness. Her desire to discover new places. Her need to get away from her family. The darkness. This impulse, that drove her to pack her bags, and leave with the first train. I wonder why she chose this country. With a large smile, full of tenderness, she answers:

" - People lie so much, everyday, everytime. But luckily... I've got the Smiths... And it makes me forget everything. Oh. And Depeche Mode. Since they are British, and I find this language so beautiful.. I did not hesitated! "

Why didn't I ever met anyone like you before, Sarah? You are so different, so sweet, so innocent. You accept the help of the unknown guy who will open its door, without being afraid. I sigh, and slides a hand in my hair. I wish I could be like you. But there is something inside of me, deep in my heart, that keeps on burning. This incredible pain loves to dance at the exact place where it hurts. Sometimes, I feel weak and ridiculous, because I do not know what is the reason of my sadness, and it is the worst thing. How can I heal if I don't know where the pain comes from?

But you are here. I cannot tell why, but your smile slowly but surely closes all the ichorous wounds of my soul. Her delicate facial features, her fingers tapping on the table, her pale skin. Every fragment of her person is incredibly delicate, so different of all those women with too much make up that I meet at work. I feel like slipping my nose in her brown hair, close my eyes, and feel every last tear leave me, rolling on my cheeks. How is it possible that such an unknown woman can make me feel so good?

She slowly yawns, and it takes me out of my thoughts. Sarah tries to reach the flatware in order to clean the table, but she seems so tired... I put my fingers on her hand, and guide her to the couch, in the living room.

" - Take some rest, Sarah, let me deal with it. "

She whispers some thanking, and let herself fall on the couch. Getting all the plates and cleaning them now seems to be some complicated duty. My mind is elsewhere, losing itself in the memory of this girl. Who are you, Sarah? She speaks so much, at ease, purely, something must be wrong. This cannot be possible. I fought so much to feel better, to cheer myself up, to learn how to be positive, but she makes me loose all control. I polish the dishes with anger, like if putting all my energy in my hands would help me understand about what is going in my head. I want to open the tap to get some cold water, but it a burning liquid spews on my arm. I swear, holding my hand on the burn. The inside of my head feels like a big mess. I throw the sponge in the sink, close my dressing gown and go upstairs to get a blanket.

Breath, Benedict, breath. She's just a girl, an innocent girl, she will not do any harm.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Calm down.

I take a deep breath, and slowly feel better. I open the dresser's door, get a soft blanket, and put it under my shoulder. I walk toward the lounge, getting around the couch to face Sarah.

She felt asleep.

Her naked legs are folded, she took her shoes off, and her feet are placed on a cushion. I hardly swallow my saliva, and draw the curves of her calf with my eyes, and trace up to her thigh. A wave of heat explodes in my chest. I would like to go away from this vision, but I cannot take my eyes off of her. I am stuck on her body, her chest lifting with every breath, her open palms, ready to accept the caress of my hand. My hands are tensing the blanket, that I cannot resign to put on her. When did I felt such desire for the last time? I always had the opportunity to have sex with strangers. But sex without feelings is like a tasty and mouth-watering dish, that reveals to be absolutely tasteless and fade. Just an empty shell.

My lips begins to shake. I unfold the blanket, and cover Sarah's shoulders. Lost in my embarrassment, I escape in my room, and quickly lock the door. I am losing control... and it feels so good.


	4. Chapter 4

My eyelids open shyly, like if they wanted to be sure that nobody was looking at me. What day is it? What time is it? The sun almost finished packing and is really to leave for the night. Oh my god, I shall thus have slept all day long? I stretch my legs with difficulty, and yawn. The night will be short.

I let my dressing gown slide along my shoulders, she falls against my hips, and I find myself completely naked. I go under the shower, and as I began to wash myself, I suddenly realize that I am not alone in this house anymore. Sarah. The young blind girl. She must still be there... unless she was just a beautiful, really beautiful dream... But the memory of her smile is still burning in my head. I get out of the shower hastily, grab a towel and begin to dry myself off.

Who is she, after all?

Maybe she took advantage of my nap to burgle me.

Maybe she used a spray of yellow paint to tag my walls.

Maybe she emptied all my wine cellar and got drunk all by herself in the living wrong.

Worse... Maybe she event found my porn collection hidden in the shelf next to the telly. Ouch. I really do not want her to discover my fetish about girls with high heels and latex dresses.

I quickly put a polo on, slide my legs inside a blue jeans, and run down the stairs.

I found Sarah there, sitting on the sofa, with her earphones on, singing softly. I throw a scared glance at the rest of the house: everything is at its right place, nothing moved, except the blanket, neatly folded on the couch. I sigh with relief. She was neither a chimera nor a burglar. Just a pretty lost girl.

I approach her and sit by her side on the sofa. She takes her earphones off and turn her head in my direction, smiling:

" - Did you slept well, John?"

I missed her voice so badly. I wish I could reveal my identity, share with her about my job, the people I met. But inside of me, I love my anonymity. So I answer:

" - Yes, absolutely! I am glad you could rest... I..."

Want to kiss you.

Want to slip my hand in your hair, on your cheeks, on your shoulders.

Want to die kissing you, want to...

I hardly kill all my desires, push them away with the back of my hand. I glance at the clock. It is already seven o'clock. Too early for diner, but it might be time for a drink. Nothing tempts me more than a cigaret, a good vinyl and some alcohol even though, to be honest, she tempts me even more than all those three pleasures together.

" - Sarah, do you like wine? " am I declaring, cheerful.

She burst of laughter, and retorts:

" - Who do you think I am, John? Of course I love wine, I am French! "

Her answer surprises and amuses me. With long strides, I go in the kitchen, grab a good bottle, two glasses, and return in the living room. I put them on the table, and begin to look for a record. It has never been so easy to choose: tonight, it will be "Violator', by Depeche Mode. One of my favorites.

_Reach out and touch faith..._

When she hears Dave Gahan's voice, Sarah gets up spiritedly.

" I love this song! "

Her body moves with the rhythm of the music, her lips strikes up the lyrics, as she claps her fingers. I feel her cup with red wine, and slip it in her hand. She stops for a second, stretches her arm forward, and touch my wrist. Her fingers wind around mines, without fear. A shiver wakes up in my spin and propagates itself in my back like an electric shock.

" - Let's drink to our meeting! To this wonderful day!"

My cheeks go red suddenly. She is so discreet and silent, I thought I was the only one to delight in the presence of the other. But it seems that I was very far from the truth. My glass chimes against her, so I whisper, before I raise it to my mouth:

" To this wonderful and incredible evening, Sarah."

And when the cup touches my lips, I feel this old jealousy growing up like a fireball deep inside my heart. God, I wish I could be this ridiculous glass... While I look at her, answers finally come to me. This might be the reason why I feel joy again. With her, I can be myself. Not Mister Cumberbatch. Not Sherlock. I could finally be Benedict, this British guy with ginger hair, with the common facial features, almost ugly. I do not have to put on an act, to fake a smile in front of photographers, to walk slowly on the red carpet. I regain my freedom, my happiness. By realizing all the goodness her presence had on me, I want to lay my eyes on hers. She had token her glasses off, and the paleness of her blind eyes is not intimidating me, I find it fascinating, mesmerizing. As sick as it might seem, I love to go deep in her eyes, and I liked even more the idea that even if my winks might make her feel all naked, she would never see me doing it. She would not judge me. Sarah will never know that, as I deliciously drank my wine, i was feasting on her eyes, because I cannot touch her. I would die to do it, of course. But I did not had the courage to do it.

The vinyls change, but we are still surrounded by Dave Gahan's voice and its music. We are dancing in the middle of room, like teenager, slightly distant from one another. I never had been one of those people who love spending time on the dancefloor, since exposing myself in public always put me ill-at-ease. But in front of Sarah, with her undulating hips, her closed eyes, her smile and her fingers flirting with the air, everything felt so easy... Every lyric seems to echo with my own desires and emotions, but I staid silent.

When one of us emptied its glass, the other was always there to fill it, so I had to get another bottle in the kitchen. Sarah's lips had taken a carmine color, and, as if she was freed by flavor of wine, she danced and laughed, telling me stories, anecdotes, sometimes inter sliced with praises for Depeche Mode.

_We're flying high_

_We're watching the world pass us by_

_Never want to come down_

_Never want to put my feet back down_

_On the ground... **_

" - John, john, do you know that this song, _Never Let Me Down Again_, describes the addiction to drugs and artificial highs? Flying high, never come down... Dave used to be a drug addict, he even tried to commit suicide, after coming back from detox... "

She swallows another gulp of wine, and continues:

" - Some of his friends had burglarized him. But he was able to face it, to go through it... I really admire his courage. "

Sitting on the couch, I observer her talking. Her passion and her enthusiasm are quite simply fascinating. Her smile has not left her lips since her first drink. Maybe Sarah is simply the solution to my sadness...

Her phone rings, an electronic tone resound in the living room. I burst of laughter: it sounds like a science-fiction stuff, maybe Doctor Who, not really the kind of reference I was expecting her to have. I uncork the second bottle of wine, laughing. Amused, Sarah begins to gesticulate, bends her arms like a robot, and repeats with a gloomy voice:

" - Exterminate, exterminate... "

I drink from the bottle, turn the volume up, and slide by her side laughing. In quite a rough imitation, I hum the song as the singer, making more and more funny faces. Sarah laughs. Her happiness revives me, climbs in my heart. I want to scream, to yell. I never felt so alive in all my fucking life. With a will, I grab the hat lying around, some filming memory, and light a cigaret.

I deeply breath some tobacco, and let the smoke escape from my lips, as I turn up my collar and speak, taking a voice which is not mine:

" - My name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, I don't have friends... "

Sarah burst of laughter, and see her this way full my with joy. I look at her, as we slowly calm ourselves.

_Sometimes I slide away, silently_

_I slowly lose myself, over and over_

_Take comfort in my skin endlessly_

_Surrender to my will forever and ever_

I let myself slowly fall on the cough, tipsy due to the smell of red wine dancing in the room and perfuming my throat. I look at her, and silence rise between us. The vinyl keeps on playing its music, imperturbable, as my lips slowly meet hers.

_I dissolve in trust_

_I will sing with joy_

_I will end up dust_

_I'm in heaven… ***_

She gives herself to me, soft and light, like a memory going to fade away. Stay here, with me, promise me you will never leave. Sarah.

My tongue slips on her lips. An incredible heat grows in my chest. I feel her fingers going through my hair. This is not a stolen kiss, it is a sharing, an union, something perfect, something magnificent. I want her so bad, and as I feel this desire, I realize that in all my life, I never wanted a woman as much as her. She has some kind of purity, an angelic innocence that twist my heart in an unknown way. The softness of the face features leave me speechless but hungry, as my mouth open and I whisper her name.

Sarah.

I feel her breath against my neck. So hot, so soft... It burns my skin and annihilates all my feelings. I could die against her, and I know I will not feel any pain.

And this woman, sudden incarnation all of my dreams, how could she share even a whit of my feelings?

And her hands are so perfect, redrawing the curves of my face. I wish to feel them laying on me, her divine hands going against my skin. Let me see the world in your eyes.

I cannot predict her lips moving forward mine. My mind plays me tricks, as I see, slow motion, Sarah's eyes closing like the first time, and her soft breath joining mine...

I thought I knew happiness, but I was far from it. One kiss, I pay the price, I have a taste of paradise.

My palms slowly raise along her back. Her spin shivers, as my arms wind around her shoulders. My head coil up against her. I want to curb my desire, but I am incapable of it, so I let my fingers slide on her naked skin, under her t shirt. A sigh escapes from her lips. I am afraid, so afraid to do something wrong, to hurt her...

Sarah goes away from me, her smile is serious, almost cold. Slowly, she takes her top off, and let it fall on the floor. Her hand finds my shaking wrist, she caresses it with her fingertips, as if she wanted to reassure me. My eyes lose themselves on her chest, and everything speeds up. I let her fall on the couch, as her nails grab my polo.

Her lips find mine again, and I know they are not ready to leave them. And when my burning chest touch her skin, and when her finger unzip my trouser, and when my hand glide between her legs, it's like the earth could stop spinning. A bomb could blow away all London, a paparazzi could immortalize this precise moment, a storm could take us both away, but nothing would matter.

There would just be her body against mine.

Her breath in my neck.

Her moans escaping from her lips.

My body in hers.

My eyes lost in hers, as she whispers, as she sighs, as she comes.

When we make only one, and when she makes me come, as no other woman ever did before.

When it seems that she knows my body better than I do.

When I finally realize that... shit, I wish I could be hers for eternity.

_And if a double-Decker bus _c_rashes into us_

_To die by your side _i_s such a heavenly way to die_

_And if a ten-ton truck kills the both of us_

_To die by your side_

_Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine… ****_

_* Depeche Mode - Personal Jesus_

_** Depeche Mode - Never Let Me Down Again_

_*** Depeche Mode - Heaven_

_**** The Smiths - There is a light that never goes out_


End file.
